ATLAS
by The Typing Cat
Summary: A change of direction can lead to places unexpected.
1. Atlas

A/N: Since my mind is all over the place and I can't seem to update my other stories, I decided to just post my late-night insomnia-fueled ramblings. This chapter is particularly...rough to read through. I don't really have much control over my writing abilities while half asleep, so the quality of some chapters might be dubious at times. Hope you still enjoy them. x

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 **Atlas:**

 **Because she had carried the weight of someone else's world for too long, and it had become too heavy for her.**

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The world was phantasmagorical and hazy, as if a careless hand had dragged across the length of a freshly-done painting and smeared its content across the canvas. Cho blinked slowly, hoping that the image of the crooked building before her would fade from her vision and she'd wake up from a dream that was no longer pleasant enough to be considered dream, but nothing changed.

The Borrow, with its strange architecture and the odd collection of clutter around it, still lumbered over the patch of green in front of them. The sun was still setting over the horizon, its golden light bathing the world in an almost ethereal glow. Harry Potter still had his arms wrapped around her waist, broad chest to her back as he placed a linger kiss by her ear.

"I love you." He said once more, and he sounded like he _believed it_. "I love you."

Her heart clenched in her chest every time the words escaped him, but she was too paralyzed to do anything to stop him. He tugged on her hand and gently turned her to face him, and her body helplessly shifted with the movement. The current Head of the Auror's wing smiled at her. His fingers slid beneath her chin to tip her head upwards. He didn't hesitate. He didn't shuffle awkwardly like he used to whenever she'd leaned in for affection during their Hogwarts days. His warm lips touched hers and settled there, firm but soft, giving and yet insistent.

The contact might've lasted for the length of a heartbeat, but it felt longer to her. Long enough for her breath to tangle in her lungs, leaving her lightheaded and utterly dazed. When he broke away, Harry just stared at her. His eyes were bright and as startlingly green as they had been when she'd first seen him from across the pitch, and the dark lashes that framed them lowered as his smile returned. It was the first time she'd heard the words, and the first time it had truly sank in that their relationship was real, not just a skewered version of reality she'd concocted in her dreams.

There was no doubt about it. It was displayed in those stunning eyes of his. She had somehow managed to regain the affections of a man who had once left her behind like a a broken doll. For better or for worse, his heart was hers. The confession and the kiss he'd used to seal it were _real_. _This_ , the thing they shared but she'd refused to name, was _real_. A part of her recoiled at the thought.

The tender moment should've happened years before. She had always pictured them being somewhere private and blissfully quiet in the castle. There should've been moonlight streaming through a window or slanting over the edge of one of the walls of the Quidditch pitch, and she'd always imagined them being wildly in love when he finally told her the words she'd been dying to hear before he leaned in for a magical kiss...

But she wasn't sixteen and he was certainly not fifteen. The hair at his temples was silver and even when he smiled he looked tired, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth only slightly diminishing as his lips curved. He hadn't been wildly in love with her for decades. He had gone off into the world and left her behind, had fallen for another girl just a short year later and had eventually married the chit. They'd had a daughter together and had been very happy. If his wife had not been violently taken away from him, Ginny would be the one hearing his tender words, being kissed like the world revolved around her.

Cho was just the filler, the replacement. Harry was a dutiful father and wanted his daughter to have a mother figure in her life. He was lonely and his bed had been empty for far too long. And this woman who wasn't the love of his life had conveniently filled the space his dead wife had left with her passing. Cho doubted he was as devoted to her as she had once been to him, but at least they had that in common now.

Harry tucked a stray hair behind her ear before resting his chin atop her head. His arms were around her again, gently squeezing her. She desperately wished she could regain control of her limbs, though she wasn't sure of what she would do once that happened. She considered pushing him away but her arms twitched at the thought, feeling more useless than ever as they dangled limply by her sides.

"I love you." Was it really that simple for him? Because her life had swung right into the unknown with those three words. Her fingers rose and encircled his forearms, but they just clenched fiercely about them. "And I would very much like it if you married me."

The words escaped before she could control the bitter sting in them. "No."

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A/N: This was today's attempt at reconstructing an old story. My first FF story, actually. I'll probably never finish it, to be honest.


	2. Over Tea

A/N: Another sleep-deprived piece. Better made than the last one, I think. Still a one-shot, even though it might not be entirely finished. Maybe I'll add a bit more to it later this night.

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 **Over Tea**

 ** _"Sometimes I'm not sure if we're madly in love or just mad."_**

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Some of London's most prominent wizarding families packed the platforms of the stadium that had been newly-erected in the Patagonian dessert for the Quidditch World Cup, but despite the jovial atmosphere and friendly faces filling the seats around him, Harry Potter, widely considered to be the modern world's equivalent of Merlin by many, wanted nothing more than to flee.

He should never have attended the game. He should've stayed inside the cool walls of his home that morning, waddling through the endless paperwork that came with his job as he nursed the splitting headache that had been steadily pounding against his skull since he'd first stirred from his slumber that morning. Anything would be better than enduring the sharp jabs against the back of his eyes and skull that rose whenever one of the teams did something to please their rabid fans.

 _Blimey_. He hadn't expected it to get as bad as it had. Every time someone scored, blocked a player from the opposite team or spotted the snitch, the crowd would shriek and the whipping pain in his head would knock the breath out of his lungs. He should've taken something for the ache before leaving the house. But Ginny had been pestering him about leaving early so they could get settled into their seats and she could start the process of reporting on the match.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Harry stretched a sigh for as long as he could and lifted his glasses from his face so he could press against his eyeballs with his fingers. He wished the sun would simply disappear. For a couple of minutes, at the very least. Just enough time for the pain in his eyes and the nausea his headache was causing to subside. He really couldn't take much more of this.

As the crowd jumped to their feet after one of the shifting blurs in the sky managed to score a goal, Harry turned to his son and tugged gently on the thick mass of red hair atop his head. "James, I'm going to the bathroom. Tell your mother I have a migraine."

James offered what Harry hoped was a nod of understanding, but his brown eyes never stopped watching the match. With a grimace, Harry weaved his way through some of his old schoolmates and headed across the platform and down the stairs that would lead to the lavatory.

The relief was so great when the semi-darkness of the hallway at the foot of the stairs finally apparated before him that his eyes prickled with unshed tears. The candlelight was an improvement over the sun's harsh glare, and the headache, while not disappearing entirely, did ease by a smidge. However, the thrill of escaping what had been tormenting him for the past four hours was short lived.

The long hall that had been especially made with the thought of accommodating Dumbledore's Army and keeping the overzealous crowds from smothering them was not entirely empty. Someone sat on a bench by the shadowy end, a mug clasped firmly in their hand. Harry squinted through his ocular migraine and tried to make out who it was, but his vision hadn't exactly improved over the years. He really should do something about his glasses after he got home that night.

"Running away, are we?" Even though the stranger had not once looked in his direction, she seemed to be confident on who she was talking to. "That will give Rita Skeeter something to blab about."

His steps slowly down to a crawl and he released a small chuckle as he realized just who'd decided to sneak away from the match. "Looks like you had the same idea."

"They say great minds think alike." She lifted the cup in a half-hearted toast. "Though I'm not entirely certain I should be comparing myself to a man who had no qualms about letting himself get killed. As a healer, I can safely tell you that getting murdered will put a definite dent on any plans you might have for the future."

"I'll try to avoid getting murdered next time." He dragged a hand sheepishly across his face and winced as the corner of a nail scraped against the fresh scar on his cheekbone.

"Do you want me to peek at that?" She placed her mug down on the bench and patted the empty spot next to her. "I usually charge by the minute, but I'll make an exception this time."

"That sounds a lot like prostitution." Harry laughed as she pulled a face at him and dramatically placed her hand over her heart. "But it isn't of course. I'd have to arrest you if it was."

"Uh…yeah, let's go with that." Her hand shifted from her chest, and patted the bench encouragingly again. "Now, let's look at that cut, shall we?"

He absent-mindedly traced the cut, blinking as he stared at a finger now smudged with blood. He must've opened it when his nail caught on the fresh scar. He could hardly return upstairs while dribbling blood all over his white shirt. And it wasn't as if they were doing anything inappropriate…even if his wife might not be too happy about finding him with his ex-girlfriend's hands on his face. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the stairs in the distance, Harry strolled towards the spot she'd offered and plunked down.

"They always look at you, don't they?" The question, coupled with fingers that had clasped around his chin and the top of his head as she examined the injury, startled him. "It doesn't matter how long it's been or what you've done with your life after the war, they always stare."

He didn't resist when she angled his head and traced the stinging scar. Her cool fingers felt nice against skin that had been under the sun for way too long. "They do."

"I would run for cover if everyone was watching, too." He murmured, allowing his lids to lower over his eyes as he savored her gentle ministrations. Her thumb brushed against his skin, leisurely sliding across the jagged edges of the cut as the injury stung, then tingled pleasantly. "Sucks to be you, I guess."

The unamused note in her voice made him laugh. "Right? Sometimes I wonder why I don't just bash my face until it's impossible for anyone to look at me without cringing."

"I think genetics already did that for you." She sucked in a breath, and the noise snapped him out of the trance-like state. "That was meant to be a joke."

"I'm sure Rita Skeeter will write worse than that when her article comes out. No worries." He grinned at her and added, "Besides, I can't be that awful-looking. I seem to recall you cornering me in the room of requirement several times during my fifth year."

"Right." She didn't sound all that amused by the sly remark. Cho released his face and settled her back against the wall after reaching out for the mug by her side. "You should ask around for something to help you with that headache."

He'd almost forgotten about the migraine. Harry reached out and pressed his fingers lightly against his temple. Oddly enough, the persistent headache had transformed into a barely-discernible throb. "You noticed?"

"You've been squinting all morning. I just made an educated guess." She flipped the lid of her container open and took a lengthy sip. "I'm feeling a touch under the weather as well. I was planning on staying home today, but the tickets were free and the kids are enjoying themselves."

"Here I was thinking you'd simply decided to corner me in a dark room again." His head lolled to the side so he could smile lazily at her. "There's a broom closet a few feet away from us, if you're looking for a tryst."

Her eyes drifted over his lanky frame in a thoroughly unapologetic fashion for a heartbeat. With a snort, Cho lifted the mug back to her mouth. "You wish. Also, this room is well-lit. Not a good place for cornering unsuspecting men at all."

"So…" A dark brow rose. "No trysting, then?"

"I'm afraid not, Harry." Her fingers fidgeted with the metal rim of her mug. It dawned on him that she'd been playing with the lid of the container from the moment the DA had gathered in the pitch for a briefing about where they would be seated and how they would be escorted outside once the match was over. "But the bathroom is in the opposite direction, if you want to tryst with yourself in a stall."

Ignoring the suggestive comment, Harry lowered his gaze to the item in her hand. "How long does it take to drink that? You've been going at it all morning. Unless…that's not coffee and you're pacing yourself."

"I'm not drinking." When his brows arched in question, she rolled her eyes. " _Technically_ I am _drinking_ , but I mean to say that my drink isn't alcoholic. I'm pacing myself because I hate tea, you arse."

"Well, almost everyone here drinks tea, don't they?" He eyed the container for a moment before pulling his gaze to her face. "Why are you drinking it in a shadowy hallway like it's some big secret?"

"Because peppermint tea has a strong smell."

"It's sunny outside and we're sandwiched together in a platform. I'm sure everyone is covered in sweat out there. I don't think they'll notice your tea stinks, Cho."

She shifted uncomfortably beside him, but said nothing for a few minutes. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "It's a well-known fact that I've always hated tea."

"So?" Harry said as he touched the tip of his polished shoes to one of her boots. "Tastes can change over time."

"Your wife has been looking at me all morning." Had she? He hadn't been paying attention to much of anything that morning. He'd only seen Cho messing around with her mug because the glint of the metal lid had caught his aching eyes. "Women have a sixth sense about these things. I'm sure she knows why I'm drinking this shoddy leaf water."

"Oh." He said without really thinking. Something in the back of his head came to life and tugged at the heaviness in his eyelids, almost as if it were forcing him out of his stupor so he could piece together what was being said. Then everything clicked, almost audibly, inside his skull. " _Oh_. I…see…" He straightened in the bench and turned to face her. "Does your husband know?"

"Suspects." Her eyes darted to the exit as the crowd suddenly erupted in cheers. She waited until the noise had died down before continuing. "But I don't think we should talk about this here, Harry."

"The closet." He stood and craned his neck to look at the stairs before offering her his hand. She reluctantly reached for it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "I think we need to have an urgent chat, love."

She released his hand as if it had burned him at the endearment. "Not in public. Someone might hear you."

"Fine." He said blithely, stepping aside so she could walk to the closet while he followed her. "Not that there's anyone here to see. It's too noisy for anyone to hear, anyways."

"You act as if your wife won't notice that you've been gone for a long time." Her eyes narrowed down to a glare. "How long do you think it'll be before she notices that I always seem to be missing from the group whenever you decided to break away from it? What are the odds of her realizing that it's not a coincidence?"

"I honestly don't know. It's been more than a decade and she hasn't noticed." He opened the door to the broom closet for her and jerked his head to the side, signaling for her to go in before him. "So you tell me."

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A/N: Might have some typos. I'm really too tired to even care at this point. At least you now know I'm still alive, right? x']


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